Proverbs to Live By
by kissmelikeapirate
Summary: She had sworn to hate him. So why did they keep falling into bed together? And why did it feel so right?


_Christmas_

 _Emma Swan had opened the thin, square gift and laughed. A calendar. Her brother had always said she had a terrible memory for dates - she was always forgetting birthdays and anniversaries. Inside, she could see that these key dates had already been written in every month in the looping, neat script that she recognised as his._

Proverbs to Live By _, it was called, the title written on the front in sugary pink, curving script. She'd laughed; clearly that had been some kind of joke. Emma had no time for flowery words and suchlike._

 _The calendar ended up hanging on a little hook beside her fridge, quickly filling up with further dates and 'remember tos', every time she turned the page to a new month she found herself rolling her eyes at the latest cliche..._

 _March_

 **Easy come, easy go**

It was a chilly evening at Storybrooke harbour. The sun had long since disappeared for the day and the Atlantic Ocean was whipping up, tossing a fine spray of saltwater onto dry land. Emma tugged her leather jacket around her as she waited.

A small, well-kept boat pulled up the the jetty. "Killian Jones?" she shouted.

The man at the wheel was bundled up in a thick down jacket with a beanie pulled down over his forehead. He tilted his head and held his hand up to his ear to indicate he couldn't hear and then pointed at the engine. With a sigh, Emma checked her watch. It was already 7pm and she needed this skip back in Boston by 7 _am_ at the latest.

She waited, less than patiently, as the skipper eased the small yacht into the berth and turned off the engine. He then took a loop of thick rope and began to wrap it around the metal cleat that was attached into the dock's timbers. Not seemingly in any rush, he then continued to tie up the rest of the hitches before hopping effortlessly onto the jetty and strolling towards her.

"Can I help you, lass?" he drawled, his crisp British accent so out of place that it startled her for a moment as she simultaneously noticed that his eyes were a brilliant blue against the rest of his dark attire. She swallowed hard and gathered her thoughts.

"Emma Swan, bail bonds and PI," she announced, handing him a business card that he quickly scanned before shoving it in his jeans pocket. He smiled, exposing perfect white teeth.

"Killian Jones, owner and captain." He held out his hand but Emma ignored him and pulled out photocopy of William Smee's mugshot from her jacket pocket and held it up.

"You know this man?"

He squinted, taking a few steps forward as he tugged off the beanie and revealed a crop of thick, dark hair. "Ah yes, nice fellow. Just gave him a ride."

"A ride? I thought you gave sightseeing cruises?"

She eyed up the fresh sign that sat beside the boat's berth 'Jones Scenic Tours', illustrated as it was with a painting of a vintage style yacht silhouetted against a sunset. The business was new to town in the past month or so (according to the gossip she heard in the diner) and as such not much was known about it other than it's name and that of its owner.

"Well yes, that will be my main purpose come the warmer months, but as it is a while yet til that time I am also available to charter."

"Right," she muttered, "So where is he?" she looked behind him, expecting her skip to be also exiting the boat.

"Who?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Him! William Smee!" She waved the mugshot in front of his face, feeling quickly exasperated by this man with the ridiculously blue eyes (and, she noted to her chagrin, he had good hair… and a perfect jawline with a layer of scruff that was distractingly attractive, even in her current state).

"Oh," he cried, scratching at said scruff. "I let him off. He decided when we were out he wanted to make it a one way trip."

"What?" she screeched. "What the hell? Where?"

Captain Killian Jones looked sheepishly at the ground. He winced a little and then quietly replied, "Canada…"

"CANADA!? Motherfucker!-"

Jones shrugged, "I saw no harm- he said he wanted to visit some family-"

Emma shook her head, raising her hands in frustration. "You aided and abetted a wanted criminal, you jackass!"

"Hey, lass, calm down-" he took a step closer to her.

She tossed him an icy glare. "Jesus, stop calling me that. I'm a grown woman not some 'lass'. Did you know that man is wanted for fraud and forgery in three states?"

"No…"

"And that aiding and abetting a felon's escape _is a crime_?"

Folding his arms, Killian Jones rolled his eyes. "Come on now, no harm done. I can show you where I dropped him if you have a map. Then you could go get him and do your bail bonds thing. Short fellow, big beard - he doesn't blend in that well." He grinned, showing those neat white teeth again that just infuriated her even more.

"Trust you? No siree. But you can bet your ass the sheriff is going to hear about this."

"Hey now, isn't that a little much?"

If blood could boil, her's certainly was now. "A little MUCH? I've been tracking this guy for two weeks and I finally nail him down and then thanks to _you,_ buddy, he skips out!" She took an angry step forward and planted her fists firmly on her hips.

Killian pursed his lips for a moment, before leaning a little closer. "Well maybe, l _ove,_ if you were a better bail bonds 'person' it wouldn't have taken you over a week to find the damn fool. He's hardly a criminal mastermind!"

She gasped in shock, "Oh no, you do NOT get away with insulting me like that. I am VERY good at my job."

"Clearly not good enough," he quipped.

She looked at him with disgust, scanning over his body from his mussed up hair to his old scuffed boots. He may be handsome, but he was an asshole, which more than cancelled out his good looks.

"Just you wait for the call, buddy. I'm _very_ good friends with the local PD."

"I await with bated breath," he said, giving her a sarcastic wink.

"You… you…" She balled up her fists in frustration as all rational words seem to leave her head.

"Yes?" he asked, folding his arms.

"Urgh!" she cried, spinning abruptly on her heel and stomped back towards her car.

 _That ass,_ she thought, _he is not going to get away with this._

 _April_

 **Keep your friends close and your enemies closer**

Spring had sprung.

Storybrooke was beginning to wake up from its winter hibernation and prepare itself for the upcoming tourist season. The nip in the air finally softened and the first buds of new flowers began to appear.

Not that that mattered too much to Emma. Her work was not dictated by season and frankly, more tourists in town just gave her a headache when she had to wait in line for her morning cocoa at Granny's Diner for more a minute or two.

Spring brought with it the month of her brother's birthday and as per usual it was to be celebrated with a party involving just about everyone Emma Swan and her brother knew.

Frankly, Emma was not in the mood for a party, even one for her beloved sibling. Hot on the tail of William Smee all week (predictably, he hadn't been able to stay away from his old haunts), somehow he'd gotten away. Again. It irked her more than it usually did when a skip got the better of her. The man was slippier than an eel.

If it hadn't have been a special occasion then she would definitely have begged off and gone to bed with a bottle of whiskey and some take out. Not that that was an unusual occurrence. David and his girlfriend Mary Margaret Blanchard were true social butterflies, always arranging one get together or the next, with barely a week going by in between. The pair were used to Emma declining when she was called out of town for work (actually not always a lie, Emma was a workaholic if she was anything).

The party was held at the large loft space just off Main Street that David and Mary Margaret shared; open plan and nicely rustic - it as an ideal place for a party but it didn't offer many spaces to hide. Emma decided the best course of action, considering her mood, was to sulk by herself at the periphery of the room and hope that she would be left alone.

By nine, the loft was buzzing with people. With David being the small town's sheriff, he knew just about everyone and _everyone_ loved him. He was one of those down to the bone good people and that's what made him perfect for Mary Margaret. She herself was white as snow, as perfect as a princess- normally something Emma would hate but how anyone could so much as dislike the elfin schoolteacher was beyond her. Truth was, they were both just really good people and as such were liked by just about every person in the small town. Thankfully that meant a crowd of people Emma could hide behind.

Sipping on her Jack and Coke, she slouched against the exposed brick wall as she watched the guests arrive and greet David, laden with gifts and drinks, bringing smiles and laughter as they shucked off their jackets and tucked into the lavish buffet that the happy couple had laid out for everyone. The perfect hosts as always, she thought with a sigh that had a tinge of envy within it.

The liquor wasn't exactly filling and it didn't take long for Emma's own stomach to start to grumble and remind her that she had not eaten since lunch - and even then a bearclaw did not constitute a meal if the term was to be applied properly. She knocked back the rest of her drink and then took the scenic route around the outer rim of the loft towards the kitchen, managing to make it there with only a few nods and smiles needed to those who had caught her eye. After loading up a plate with both hot and cold appetizers, she was reaching for one more mini quiche when she did a double take.

" _Holy crap_ ," she whispered under her breath as she saw who had just stepped through the door. Slamming down her paper plate, she stomped towards the devil himself.

A second later she was tapping on the shoulder of her target.

"Yes?"

He turned around. It was definitely him. Blue eyes, killer smile, perfectly shaped mouth. Killian Jones. Her nemesis. Looking irritatingly more put together than the last time they met in a leather jacket and button down that made her quickly smarten up her own shirt with a quick downward tug.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

He smiled. The bastard _smiled_.

"Well good evening to you too, Miss Swan."

"I'm serious," she muttered, "Why are you here?"

Killian rolled his eyes, "It's called an invitation, Miss Swan. Someone invites you to a gathering and it's customary to accept, should you be available."

"How do you know David?"

He folded his arms. "Well I do believe someone tried to get me arrested last month. Turns out your brother is a lot more reasonable than you are."

Emma pursed her lips. It still smarted that he had been let go without so much as a slap on the wrist. Damn, you'd think the local Sheriff being your brother should have some perks?

"So he just let you go and now you're _pals_?"

"Well, love, it seems that _some_ people in this town are willing to make a newcomer feel welcome."

She scoffed, throwing back her head. "This town is not in need of any more assholes."

"Ooh, darling," he cooed, stepping forward and tilting his head, "That smacked of bitterness. What's wrong- some clever sod dumped you and now you're taking it out on every handsome man you meet?"

"Screw you."

"Oh wouldn't you love to," he jibed, grinning like he was _really_ enjoying this exchange.

"In your dreams."

He looked her up and down, his jaw falling open as his tongue ran a slow path along his bottom lip.

"How did you know?"

The only thing that stopped her from kicking him in the balls, right there and then, was seeing her brother approach from across the room. The last thing she wanted was for him to see them arguing and then spend the rest of the night trying to get them to make up (ever the conciliator was her brother - that's what made him such a great sheriff).

"This isn't over," she whispered, turning away before David could catch her.

With a scowl, she wandered back to her plate of food, pouring herself a double whiskey in an attempt to douse the fire of contempt that his arrival (and their confrontation) had sparked within her. The plate of food went down almost as easily as the liquor and a pleasant feeling of mild drunkenness had started to descend. So she poured herself another drink, consciously keeping herself on the opposite side of the loft to him, letting herself drink away the annoyance until she almost forgot he was there.

Much, much later, when the lingering crowd had started to dwindle, Emma wandered towards the bathroom. Walking in a straight line wasn't easy, but the drinks had certainly improved her mood. She pushed open the door, only to see it was occupied, quickly dropping her gaze.

"Oh, shit, sorry-"

"No bother love-"

Both parties looked up at the same time. All the anger of their earlier interaction immediately came rushing back, mingled with the complete lack of filter that the alcohol had provided.

He raised an eyebrow and that made her just lose it.

"You lost me a skip," she spat.

Without missing a beat he replied, " _You_ almost got me arrested - and deported!"

She set her face in stone, looking with disgust at his ridiculously handsome face and the way his leather jacket fit him so damn well-

"You're an ass."

"You're a bloody minx."

She planted her hands on her hips. "A minx? Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Well, I would call you a bitch but that would be bad form on my part."

"I hate you."

"Oh nowhere near as much as I detest you, _love._ "

The way her drunken mind saw it, she had two options. Either kiss him or slap him.

She chose the former: launching her lips at his with a ferocity that only anger could furnish.

For a second, he was taken aback. Swaying slightly, he soon righted himself as she slung her arms around his neck and pulled him close. It was a kiss that lacked finesse, more teeth than tongue and drunken groping hands that were soon cupping her ass and tangled in his hair. She then pushed him back against the sink, leaning up on her toes to chase his lips.

(He tasted like rum and Coke. She liked it.)

Then, he pulled away a little, scraping his teeth down her neck, gnawing at the flesh as she slid her hands through his gorgeously thick hair. Her skin began to tingle with want, heat burning between her thighs while his wandering lips made their way across her chest, one of his hands flicking the tiny pearl buttons of her blouse open and pulling down the lace cups of her bra before latching onto a nipple and sucking hard enough to make her cry our. Her head fell back, the sensation going straight to her core. He was kneading her other breast with his hand, before alternating, running his tongue in circles around her nipples before pulling them into his mouth. Breathlessly, she began to tug at the hem of his shirt, her hands finding his firm stomach and scraping around the band of his jeans until she could grab his ass, squeezing it tightly until he bit down on her breast and let out a low growl.

Dazed and confused, she let him lean her back against the wall and slide his hand beneath her jeans and into her panties, her body jolting when his fingers slid into her wetness.

"Fuck," he muttered, looking down at her through his lashes, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip in a look straight out of her fantasies that just screamed of sin and sex and all the things that she shouldn't be doing with her number one enemy.

But she was too far gone, too turned on to even care as he began to tug down her jeans, freeing one leg as he crouched in front of her and rested her foot on the edge of the tub. His fingers moved over her clit for a moment, before pressing inside of her in a delicious motion that was twinned by the sensation of his mouth upon her, his tongue spiralling and flicking her clit as his fingers pressed and stroked her to a shuddering climax only minutes later.

Her eyes flickered closed, the room spinning from orgasm and liquor. Seconds later, she saw him rise to stand, sliding his fingers covered in her release into his mouth and humming his approval as he licked them clean.

(Which was just about the hottest thing she had ever seen.)

"I've wanted to do that since I met you," he admitted.

"Oh," she choked.

"And not just that," he added, his voice lower and more dangerous.

" _Oh_."

Standing there, pants half off, breasts hanging out of her bra, she really should have felt more self conscious. But the way he was looking at her - damn, all sexy eyes and pure goddamn lust - pushed away any emerging thoughts about just how fucked up this was and all she wanted to know was what else he wanted to do to her.

(And to let him.)

"Wanna show me?" she asked, licking her lips a she clocked the bulge in his jeans.

A slow smile spread across his fucking handsome face.

"Outside," she whispered, "Five minutes."

"Make it two," he quipped, his eyes flickering over her bare chest before he opened the door slipped back into the loft.

She stood there a second, her heart racing, her mind foggy, her lust-soaked body drunk on expectation. Then quickly, she dressed (well, as quickly as her drunkenness would allow) and counted to 50 before she followed him, giving a quick goodbye to the hosts who were thankfully almost as merry as she and hopefully less likely to have noticed the dual occupants of the bathroom.

 _She hoped._

Later, in his bed, sweaty and exhausted but thoroughly sated, she turned to him. The bed sheet was over his hips, barely covering him. He did have a beautiful body, she thought. Lean and long, but not like he cared too much to slave over it in a gym for hours. Just… natural. It had felt so good on top of her, firm and warm and even through the haze of hormones and liquor she had to say he was just about the best lay she had had in a very, very long time. (Perhaps every, a little part of her said, quickly quietened.)

"I still hate you," she said as her breathing slowed back to normal. He tilted his head and smirked, his kiss-reddened lips swollen and sexy.

"Feeling's mutual," he replied with a wink.

Five minutes later she was gone.

 _June_

 **Birds of a feather flock together**

Late one Saturday evening Emma received a text from Mary Margaret. It was a single picture of her hand adorned with a solitaire peridot ring on her wedding finger. So David had finally gone and done it. After five years of dating her older brother was going to make his girlfriend an honest woman. Emma'd replied with a congratulatory message, full of the enthusiasm that the couple deserved. But there was a dull ache that accompanied the news. One that felt an awful lot like envy.

The pair were the epitome of everything that she thought a relationship should be and had long since given up on for herself. God, she was so happy for them. But it still was a stinging reminder of that she would never have and what she had turned her back on after one too many jerks had messed with her heart.

She needed to do something.

Impulsively, she grabbed her leather jacket and jumped into her car. She drove into town from her little cottage on the edge of the woods, parking outside the diner and planning to pick up a ride or get a cab back later. The heels of her boots clacked on the pavement as she walked the short distance to the one bar that she knew stayed open late in Storybrooke and would have some strong liquor that would happily banish these negative thoughts, for tonight at least.

A few paces outside she could already hear the music coming from the jukebox and the sound of a Saturday night crowd. She took a breath and stepped inside, her mouth already watering at the idea of a stiff drink.

And, of course, the first person she saw as she walked in was Killian Jones. Same leather coat, same butt hugging jeans with a bottle of beer in hand and his hip pressed up against the bar as he nodded to her in welcome.

Her face instantly flushed. Memories of the night they had shared (that she had _tried t_ o lock away) came back in relentless waves, causing her heart to flutter a little as her gut clenched. Averting her eyes, she walked purposefully past him, threading her way through the crowd before taking a seat at the furthest end of the bar and placing an order for a strong hiball.

"Avoiding me?"

She almost jumped out of her skin at the soft, dulcet tones of Killian Jones voice just a few inches shy of her ear.

"Shit," she cried, smiling apologetically as the barman placed a Jack and Coke in front of her. "Some warning please," she hissed.

"Sorry," he grinned, sliding onto the stool beside hers. "So, are you or are you _not_ avoiding me? Out of curiousity, I mean," he asked.

Emma took a quick sip as she contemplated a suitable reply. "More like pretending you don't exist."

"Ah," he replied. "How quickly hatred becomes indifference."

"Oh, I still hate you," she quipped, averting her eyes from as she noticed he was wearing the same cologne as the last time time their paths had crossed and the scent brought her back to his bed.

"Hmph," he grunted, before signalling for another beer. "Good. I like a consistent woman."

Turning, Emma gave him a pointed glare. "Can I help you? I just came here for a quiet drink."

"Didn't you know, it's bad form to drink alone." He leaned in a little closer, "Leads to all kinds of rumors."

With a scoff, she knocked back another mouthful."Like I care what people think."

"Oh?" he asked, his eyes wandering over her face in a way that made her far more exposed than the time he had actually seen her naked. She shivered.

"Yeah. So, if you don't mind..." she gestured for him to shoo away.

He shifted, placing both elbows on the bar in front of him. "I think I'll stay here. Bit drafty where I was before."

"Seriously?"

He leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. "What love, am I making you uncomfortable? Perhaps certain events of the past are at the forefront of your mind."

She flushed again and was damn thankful that the bar was so poorly lit.

"That was a mistake," she whispered, though she wasn't sure who she was worried about overhearing their conversation considering the music and the crowd.

"Agreed," he hummed, "But certainly one of the better ones I've made."

Emma let out a huff of air. "Well, live on the memory buddy, because it isn't happening again."

"Oh really?" he replied, "Shame."

His arrogance astounded her. As if she would ever sleep with him again! She glanced sideways as he picked up his beer and lifted it to his lips, cursing the day she had met this man.

One hour later, those same lips were trailing a sinful path down her neck and across her throat. Good lord this man knew how to make her body sing. Her hands anchored themselves in his hair as he turned her attention to her breasts, half exposed as they were from where he had earlier pulled down the neckline of her shirt. He clearly had a thing for them, not that she was complaining of the attention.

"This means nothing," she mumbled as she moved to unbutton his shirt and push it over his shoulders.

"Of course," he agreed, giving her a quick wink before he continued undressing her.

How they had gotten to this point, half dressed in the hallway of his apartment was a little fuzzy. It had started with at least three cocktails, then an argument over a bowl of bar nuts had led to him (allegedly accidentally) knock a near full bottle of beer over her jeans and then he _insisted_ she come to his place and change into something dry.

Yeah. She's seen through that almost instantly- (she wasn't _that_ drunk. This time-). But Emma hadn't cared, she had just wanted to feel good and forget all about the shitty parts of her life for one night. Though she may hate him, she knew he could do that for her.

Soon, he was wonderfully naked and splayed across his bed, propped up on his elbows with a cheeky grin on his face that she knew just the solution for. Without ceremony, she crawled over him, raking her hands over his body - his hair covered chest and the lean muscle that gave him a graceful elegance even when wrapped in denim and leather. Scraping her nails over his skin, she listened to his moans, her cheeks flushing with stupid pride as she took his heavy length in her hand and then wrapped her lips around him.

The further appreciative sounds he made had her hollowing her cheeks and circling her tongue around his tip, the heat growing between her legs, the sounds of him getting turned on _turning her_ on. His hands slipped into her hair, his legs spread out as his hips rocked upwards. He was really enjoying it. So she worked harder, taking him deeper within her mouth, swallowing around him, one hand holding him firmly as the other cupped and fondled his balls until he was begging for mercy.

"Fuck, Swan-"

"What?" she laughed, a twinkle in her eye as he pulled her up to him and kissed her ruthlessly before turning his mouth to every bare patch of skin he could find.

(And the reason why she had found herself at the bar - and in his bed - completely escaped her mind…)

Her toes had cramped as she finally came, her hands pressing on his sweat covered chest, her thighs trembling a little from the effort of riding them both to release. After a few breaths, she let him slip from her and fell by his side, her heart still racing.

The tingling had barely dissipated from her body when she reached for her jeans.

"You don't have to go, love," he said, placing a warm hand on her arm, causing her to pause and look back at him.

"I don't do sleepovers," she said pointedly.

"Well how about just five minutes? A man could be insulted at how keen you are to leave his bed."

His cheeks were nicely pink. It made him look almost sweet and was quite disarming.

"Oh?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "I thought you had thicker skin than that."

He shrugged his shoulders but kept his eyes on her and after a moment's hesitation she settled back down, pulling up the sheet to cover her nakedness and tucking it under her arms.

A few quiet minutes passed. Her heart began to slow and she listened as their breathing fell into sync. Her eyes wandered around the room. She quite liked it; all dark wood furniture with muted blue-grey walls that reminded her a little of the ocean in the winter. The walls were adorned with pictures; not of people, but of places. She recognized one of the London skyline and another of the white cliffs of Dover. It made her wonder how this man had ended up so far away from his roots.

"Why did you come to Storybrooke?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper in the silent room.

"Maybe I have a thing for blondes who hate me?" He laughed, (and she smiled) before he added, "Why not? It's not so bad a place, is it?"

"I guess," she smiled. "But I don't think it would come up top in a Google search of places to live."

"True. But circumstances led me here."

She turned to she could see him. He was still lying on his back, his fingers interlaced over his chest.

"Oh?"

His eyes met hers again and then turned to focus on the ceiling. "I needed to start a business to get a residence visa and Storybrooke had the capacity to support one - or so your chamber of commerce would have me believe considering my current experiences. Maybe I should have gone into bail bonds. Seems there's a lack of quality in that industry around these parts."

She reached across the bed and jabbed him in the side.

"Ouch," he hissed, twisting and looking her dead in the eye. "I would advise you not to assault me, I have close ties to the local sheriff."

"My brother will always put family first," she grinned back, before adding "Most of the time, anyway."

He shifted onto his side, the sheet falling lower on his hips so she could see the line of muscle that led to his crotch. She swallowed hard and tried to look higher… but then she was engrossed again in his face. That handsome face with perfect jaw and blue eyes.

" _My_ brother is why I am here."

"There are Jones'?" she cried. "I can barely stand one!"

" _Were_ …there were two of us."

"Oh, shit…" she felt like utter crap as she watched a wave of pain ripple over his face.

"I brought it up," he replied. "He was in the Navy - we both were, actually. But then there was an accident during a training exercise about a year ago and… he died."  
"Jones, you don't have to-"

"You're the first person here I've actually told. I think I want to talk about him, it's just a strange thing to bring up when you're the new man in town."

"Yeah, I'd say you're right." Emma thought back to her own childhood of foster home and moving to a new town every few months - no one ever really knowing her. She waited a moment, before asking, "You left when he died? The Navy, I mean."

He nodded. "My commission was up that year. I'd been gunning for my own captaincy. But, things change, right?"

She wanted to dislike him. She did. And he was still an ass… but he had shared something with her. She could tell he had needed to talk about his brother, if only briefly. She wanted to give him a little something back.

"David and Mary Margaret are engaged."

"Oh," he nodded.

"I found out tonight. That's why I was at the bar. I was engaged a long time ago and it turned out pretty bad. It still… you know."

She looked at him, willing him to understand what lay beneath her words. That she hadn't lost something physical - a brother like he had, but instead she'd lost a future - a 'maybe' and a 'hopefully' had become a never. He nodded again, slowly reaching his hand out to run over the arm that she had left lying between them.

"Perhaps we aren't so different then, the two of us. Both quite good at hiding from our worries."

"Maybe," she smiled again, just a little too openly - a little too hopefully. "But I still don't like you."

"Aye love, I know," he winked, "Same here."

 _August_

 **No man is an island**

It shouldn't rain in August.

It certainly shouldn't rain in August when her damn car has broken down outside the sheriff station and she is pulling her leather jacket over her head as she tries to make it to Granny's to sink back a hot cocoa and work out how she'll get home.

But it did rain; the tail end of some tropical storm the weather report had said, and Killian Jones had found her soaked to the bone crossing Main Street, pulling up beside her in his big black truck and insisting she get inside out of the 'goddamn rain'. Then upon hearing of her conundrum he had insisted upon driving her home. 'Not much interest in boat trips today' he'd explained and in a moment of weakness she had agreed.

All of which had then led to an invitation to come in for a coffee (another moment of weakness)… which resulted in her being naked from the waist down, perched on the edge of her kitchen countertop as he fucked her senseless.

Her ass was cold but she didn't care. Her rain-damp shirt was stuck to her skin, his hair was all messed up from where she had ruined it with her fingers. His shirt hung undone by his sides, underwear and jeans merely pushed down, such had been her haste for him.

(Yeah, she'd started it. He'd offered to help make coffee and then he was bending over to get some milk from the fridge and those damn tight jeans made his ass looks so good… and it was so easy to yank on his arm and then kiss him, sending the milk crashing to the floor and earning her a surprised grunt.)

It felt so good to just let go. Her body was so desperate for him, slick and wet as he'd slid home with throaty moan. Her annoyance at the day faded into nothing as he snapped his hips and pulled her close to the edge of the countertop, hitting her deeper inside as his fingers dug into her ass and he snatched breathless kisses from her lips.

With a strained gasp, she came, her hands encircled on the collar of his shirt, his movements grew faster as chased her to a peak, her legs wrapping around his hips as she willed him to fall with her-

Until he froze, curses falling from his lips until his forehead, laced with sweat, fell to her shoulder.

"Well, that was unexpected," he panted a moment later.

The lusty haze was replaced with a chill as Emma straightened herself up, giving him a second to do the same before she looked him in the eye. He was flushed again - she was getting used to his post orgasm face, she thought with alarm - a satisfied smile gracing his lips. She suddenly felt exposed.

"Well, um, thanks," she muttered, nudging him away from her and slipping herself down onto the kitchen floor before padding into her bedroom to locate a pair of sweatpants and a dry shirt. As she pulled the t-shirt over her head, she looked at herself in her mirror. Her hair was a soaking mess but her face- well, it wore the look of satisfaction, despite the scowl that had started to form as she left the kitchen.

"You alright love?" he called from the other room.

"Don't call me love," she snapped.

Scrunching up her face, she walked back into the kitchen to see him already dressed and preparing the two mugs of coffee that had been forgotten in the heat of the moment.

"Hey, sorry, I-"

He held up his hand, his face devoid of all the signs of the contentment of a few minutes before. "No worries lass. I'll just have this and be out of your hair."

And that, for some reason, made her feel like utter crap. She may have sworn to hate him, but she didn't need to be an utter bitch about it when she had just used him for sex like some desperate hussy.

Her attention was taken to the window when a heavy burst of rain hammered against it. She could see the trees nearby stretching and leaning as they tried to escape the clutches of the storm's strong winds.

"Thank you for the ride," her cheeks colored as she realized her double entendre. "Um, you don't need to rush to leave. The storm's pretty bad and the road back into town likes to do this flash flooding thing."

He gave her a curious look. "Why Swan, is that you asking me to stay?"

"More like saying I'd rather not have your tragic death on my conscience."

He picked up his coffee mug and looked like he was considering her offer, which made her roll her eyes in exasperation. She was trying to do the right thing here.

"I have Netflix," she offered dryly.

After another quick glance outside at the weather he shrugged. "Netflix it is then."

He'd surprised her when he hadn't argued with her about what to watch. She was right in the middle of a marathon of one of those cheesy forensic-cop shows and was dying to find out who the big bad of the season (who had been taunting the fearless crime fighters for weeks now) really was.

Killian seemed content to sit on the end of her thankfully large sofa with a dwindling supply of coffee in hand and watch silently, with only the occasional flippant comment about the ridiculousness of the show. Emma, used to watching alone, found a strange comfort in rebuffing his jibes and explaining to him just how serious it was.

"They use real science consultants and the same techniques the police do."

""Hmm, I bet," he hummed with a chuckle.

She glared at him, hugging a throw cushion to her chest. "Are you mocking me?"

"Wouldn't dare," he quipped with a flashy grin as the credits rolled and she had to resist the urge to lob that cushion at his smug, handsome face.

 _(And it was at that exact moment that it occurred to her that none of this felt weird. They'd had sex - sweaty, frantic sex - and instead of feeling uncomfortable that he was still nearby she felt strangely okay about it.)_

She was skipping to the next episode, when she noticed him looking around the room, almost studying it.

"Swan, I have to say, this place is a bit of an odd choice to set up home."

"Says the man who would probably live on his boat if he could."

He shrugged and nodded his head in agreement. She settled herself into the chair, observing that it was still raining and reasoning it couldn't hurt to tell him a few key facts about Emma Swan.

"It was my mom's - my adoptive mom's, I mean. She took me in when I was about thirteen after I'd been bounced around a million foster homes since I was a baby." She gave him a look as he opened his mouth, "No sympathy needed. The past is the past. Anyway, she had this cabin that we used for day trips into the woods - and when I got older we'd come here with our friends and kinda camp out. I always loved it and I guess she knew. She died a few years ago and left me this place. David helped me renovate it - put in a real kitchen and a bathroom and here you go. My only little slice of solitude." She looked around fondly at the exposed timber walls and the open plan living-kitchen space. It was small but perfectly formed and every window had fantastic views of the woods.

"So you like being alone then?"

She sensed more meaning behind the question than he let on, but chose to ignore it and smiled softly. "Always worked out for me in the past."

He placed his mug on the small coffee table in front of them. "We're both orphans then."

"Technically… I mean, my birth parents might be out there but it's not like I'm expecting them to turn up out of the blue and go all Annie on me."

With a laugh, he bit on bottom lip and hummed his agreement. "Aye, that seems unlikely." He was looking at her again, with a curious glint in his eye. It sent bolt of something sharp to her gut and she had to look away.

He made to stand. "Anyway, I think it's time I took my leave. Let you watch your show in peace."

She noticed that the rain had lessened as he went to retrieve his jacket and boots from where they had been left in the kitchen. She watched as he shrugged on the worn leather, admiring the way it stretched over his back; remembering how that back had felt under the hands.

"Goodbye Swan," he nodded one final time as he headed for the door.

The words had reached her lips before she even realized.

"I still hate you," she said softly.

"Yes," he began, turning back to her, "I haven't forgotten."

It was only when the door closed that she noted that he hadn't said it back to her.

Turning back to the tv, a peculiar feeling overtook her. Somehow the cabin seemed a whole lot emptier than usual.

 _October 2016_

 **You can't always get what you want**

Tangled in Killian Jones arms- in her own bed - was not how she had expected to spend the eve of her birthday. She'd had a great night with frozen pizza and a pint of Ben and Jerry's finest planned, her usual pre-birthday ritual that she had kept for the past half dozen years without fail.

But here she was.

Warm and sated, she pressed her body closer to his, enjoying the hum of his heart against her chest and the warmth of his bare skin against her own. She knew she had to move away from him and send him on his way, but, damn, it had been a long time since she had just snuggled with someone. Even someone she hated.

His fingers began running up her arms and she shivered at the ticklish sensation.

"Cold?" he whispered.

"Ticklish," she admitted as she spun onto her stomach. "So, do you always turn up unexpectedly at the homes of your sworn enemies with Chinese take out or is this a new angle for you?" Her stomach rumbled a little as she thought of the boxes of noodles that still sat, as yet untouched, in her kitchen.

"Well, since I'm not in the habit of forming enemies, I'd say this is new for me."

Resting her forearms on his chest, she planted her chin on top of her interlaced fingers.

"But when I heard it was your birthday I thought it was about time that I finally made it up to you for the whole helping-a-felon incident."

"Oh, so you admit you were an ass?"

"I only admit that I could have been a little more civilized about the matter had a hot-headed blonde not got me so riled up."

Emma blushed a little.

"Sounds like an admission to me," she teased. "Seriously though, the whole food thing was unnecessary. Kinda makes it harder to hate you."

"Harder but not impossible," he added, with a sad smile that she tried not to consider. "You actually haven't reminded me that you hate me yet."

Eyes flickered over him, looking so damn good in her bed, and she considered all she knew about this man and all she never would. Sex and pillow talk had given her a window into his soul, but she knew she had to let that mist over and let him drift away from her before things got… complicated.

This was far too comfortable, she thought, laying on her bed, talking like - like it was a relationship. Something it could never be, she thought with a start.

She had to end this soon, a little voice said. Her heart sank a little in resignation.

"You brought food, that earns you a pass."

"Oh, then I shall have to buy you more gifts."

She scoffed and shook her head, looking to change the subject. "We should probably eat the food before it's ruined."

"I think it already is, love. We've been in here quite a while."

She looked at the little alarm clock on her bedside. It was almost 11 and he had arrived sometime before 8. "Shit."

"I think we were quite preoccupied."

And oh they had been. If the man had been given any talents, she was sure one of his greatest was in the bedroom. And he was handsome. And charming. And she was pretty sure he was a really interesting guy (if she could take the time to get to know him).

Suddenly, she was nervous. Her mouth dry.

This was all feeling a little too real, a little too like a _something._

And the room was spinning and all the thoughts and doubts she had about whatever the hell was happening materialized into a wall of feeling that slammed into her, shattering her composure-

"I think we should stop this," she said, the words racing from her lips, not allowing herself to watch his reaction. Her whole body seemed to sink into the bed, her limbs leaden. Strangely, only her head retained its lightness, taking on the likeness of a helium balloon dancing at the end of a piece of string making her feel particularly abstract not only from her surroundings, but herself.

"This?" he asked

" _This_ ," she repeated. " The sex. I mean, it's not going anywhere-"

"Of course," he muttered shifting away from her and making the mattress groan.

"I mean it's ridiculous," she rambled, staring at her hands as she talked, "We hate each other. I mean, you should be with someone you actually care about and like rather than someone you can barely tolerate."

He was inching away from her on the bed, a deep sigh escaping his lungs.

"I understand," he said, "Sex is off the table. We have been a little thoughtless, haven't we? But we could still be friends..." he whispered.

"Friends?" she quipped, giving him a quick, doubtful glance, "We weren't to begin with Kilian."

Softly, he sighed. "Touche, love."

Arranging her face in a composed manner that would have fooled even the most adept student of her expressions, she offered him a bright smile while he went about dressing.

"I think I'll leave the food to you, love. It's getting late and all."

She didn't allow herself to look at his bare chest and the hair that swept over it, or the way his jeans hugged his hips or his bedhead. She didn't allow the sudden feeling that she had made a terrible mistake to transpose itself into words or actions. She didn't even allow herself about the crassness of having this conversation mere minutes after they'd been having sex.

Instead she nodded quickly and turned away to slip on a robe. And then he was gone, quietly and with barely a 'goodbye' and she was standing there, a little stunned in her cotton robe watching the door close.

Then it hit her.

She could smell his cologne on her skin and the burn of his scruff was still raw on her cheeks.

 _It was really over._

December

 **There's no place like home.**

A New Year's like the ultimate cheesy cliche to Emma. But if anyone could pull it off, it was her brother and his glowing bride.

Their vows had been taken outdoors, in a large glen in the woods, a favourite spot since their youth that somehow managed to be as beautiful in the depths of winter as in the August heat. The rain that had tormented Storybrooke for the past few months stayed away and instead a blue sky greeted the couple and the minister who joined them. Emma, as maid of honor, watched in awe as the pair pledged their love for one another and their futures together. It was a truly beautiful ceremony.

In fact, it was only marred marred for her by the attendance of Killian Jones; second row, groom's side, with the rather lovely local librarian Belle French as his date.

 _Of course he had a date_ , she had told herself as she walked down the aisle and spotted him. He was handsome and gregarious. She shouldn't be surprised. He could have his pick of the single women of Storybrooke. But still, the idea of someone with him stung in a way that surprised her.

She'd snuck glances his way a few times. He wore a dark grey three piece suit, a look that was different on him but utterly handsome of course. It would be pretty hard for him not to look attractive, she surmised. In fact, he may even have gotten a little more so in the weeks since she had last seen him. She'd become adept at avoiding the docks and finding out if he had been invited to any event that she too was. Of course, this was all the more easier since she had thrown herself into work with such vigour that the boss of the agency she worked for was soon offering her better and better contracts.

Every cloud, she thought as she tried to stop herself thinking of Killian and his date and instead watch her brother slide his mother's wedding ring onto the finger of his new bride.

For the reception the guests had decamped to a function room in the city hall. There was a band playing and everyone was in fine wedding and new year cheer, the double celebration raising the spirits of just about everyone she knew in the small town.

As is customary, there were speeches and toasts and then the dance floor was cleared and her brother and his bride took to their first dance, bridal party and groomsmen joining them after a few minutes. Emma, being made of honor, had the joy of dancing with Victor Whale, David's best man who had been a buddy of his since college and no matter how hard she tried to like him, there was always something about him that was off and gave her the chills. It really didn't help that he stunk of vodka. Her nose prickled every time he spoke and made humourless observations about the wedding.

He twirled her around the floor, her silk dress fluttering a she tried to relax and keep step, remembering the dance lessons that Mary Margaret had insisted upon as the dance floor began to fill up with the other guests.

She felt a tap on her shoulder.

"May I cut in?"

Her mouth dropped open when she saw it was Killian. He'd taken off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. She dampened her lips as Victor nodded and made straight back for the bar.

"Hey," she smiled softly as he took one hand in his and put his other about her waist.

"Hey to you too," he grinned, stepping easily into the dance. "You looked a little tense," he noted.

"Victor Whale is not exactly my favorite person."

"Seems a little off-"

She shrugged. "Something like that."

(Oh, the feel of his hand through her thin dress - the warmth and it's shape - the memory of it touching her body and his digits pressing into her skin. It was so vivid and real, like it had all happened mere hours - not months - ago.)

"How are you other than that? I've not seen you since your birthday."

No he hadn't. She had made sure to that.

"I've been busy, work… actually I might be moving to Boston," she blurted out, feeling a sour kind of triumph at the way his expression froze at the news. "Leroy - the guy who runs my agency - has been trying to get me to move down there for a couple of years and I think it's time. There's lots of work there, maybe I could even end up in New York. If things turn out…"

She watched his reaction, something changing in his composure as her words washed over him.

"And that's where you want to be?" he asked flatly, "New York?"

"I don't know," she admitted as he spun her around.

"I just never pegged that as one of your dreams."

She shrugged, her eyes flicking over the couples dancing around him.

"Maybe it's a new dream?" She sighed, pursing her lips. "This place hasn't felt like home for a while," she admitted.

"But I believed you've lived in Storybrooke for quite some time?"

"I have," she nodded, smiling wistfully, "But someone once told me home is a place that when you're not there, you just miss it."

"And you don't…"

She shook her head, "Not now… not for a long time."

"But your family are here"

"David is married now, he and Mary Margaret will be starting a family… I guess I need to start making some plans of my own."

"Well Emma, I hope it makes you happy. I hope you find what you're looking for."

"What do you mean?"

The song was ending and they slowed to a standstill, at the edge of the dance floor, the lights were dimmed further as the band began a slower track.

"One of the first things I noticed about you was the look in your eyes, this yearning. I was never able to quite work out what it was exactly and I suppose you can forgive me for not asking you, all things considered. You know you intimidated me a little."

"I intimidated you?"

"Just a smidge. When you're all focused and determined… you are beautiful, regal almost. But intimidating."

"Thank you, I think," she replied with genuine surprise.

Her eye was quickly caught by the sight of Belle French, her pretty lemon chiffon dress easy to spot as she made her way across the floor, two glasses of champagne in her hand.

"Anyway, I should go… leave you to your date. Thank you again, for rescuing me."

His face twisted, like he was confused, but she didn't let him say any more, instead slipping out of his reach and far, far away.

Darting towards the exit, she found herself in the deserted garden area just outside the city hall. There was a full moon in the sky, the darkness peppered by the dazzling flecks of light offered by the evening's stars.

Dancing with him had been a terrible idea. It had brought back all the feelings and emotions that had caused her to push him away in the first place. The way he had looked tonight - so dashing in his suit and such a far cry from the jeans and flannel she was used to. How he'd looked when she'd said she was leaving.

(She knew she had to leave now. It was the right choice. It would mean so much to her career… she could make something of herself…)

The winter chill had grown and she'd forgotten to pick up her wrap before she'd ran outside. _I'm going to miss him,_ she thought, wrapping her arms around her body. She could admit it now to herself, while here, alone. Admit it and then never think of it again. She'd miss his voice and their conversations. His wit and even his charm. And all the things she'd never get to know about him. Like how he likes his pancakes, or what size shoes he wears, or if he prefers the beach or the moutains and just what he was like as a kid-

Then her own words came back to haunt her.

 _I'll miss him._

 _Miss him._

And suddenly, she knew, she didn't hate him at all. Had she ever?

 _No._ She loved him. Loved him because he made her feel complete and whole. She loved him so much she knew she had to leave, or her heart would break because he didn't want her in that way.

Approaching footsteps paused that painful thought. She looked back over her shoulder, body tensing as a natural reaction to being alone in a darkened place at night.

"Emma?"

"Killian?' she whispered, turning around until it became clear that the figure approaching her was indeed him. "What are you doing? Where is Belle?"

He ignored her questions, instead taking confident steps to join here where she stood.

"I remembered I forgot to do something."

She opened her mouth to ask what, but she didn't get the chance.

And then he kissed her; and it was lovely and tender- his hands cupping her face, her feet rocking onto her toes so she could linger against his mouth.

"Why did you do that?" she asked quietly, tears threatening to peal from her eyes. "What about Belle-"

"Belle's just a friend. Friends can go to weddings together, my love."

He was teasing her, but there was a strange sincerity to his tone that made her stomach clench. A feeling of foolishness overcame her. "Oh…"

"And why did I kiss you?" he asked, still staring at her, her breath caught in her throat-

"Yeah."

Killian shifted a second on his feet, like she imagined he would when he was nervous. Not that she imagined he could ever be nervous.

"Because… I didn't know how else to tell you that I care about you and that I want you to stay. And that I'm falling for you."

She digested the words.

"I want you to stay," he repeated in a desperate whisper. "I know it's mad and I know we didn't get off on the best footing, but that's all in the past. You're all I've been able to think about for weeks now.

Her head spun.

"You want me to stay. You love me?" she repeated to herself before looking back at him, "I thought you hated me?"

"I never hated you Emma. Maybe I disliked you when we first met and you tried to have me arrested-"

"For good reason!" she interrupted.

"Perhaps," he smiled, pulling a strand of her hair between his fingers. "But that was before you and me."

"There's a you and me?" she asked, placing her palms flat on his chest.

"I want there to be."

She shook her head, doubt and fear flooding her, and tried to take a step backwards, through her legs wouldn't cooperate.

"But I'm moving to Boston, I can't just give all that up for you."

Even as she said it she didn't really mean it, the words feeling hollow in her throat. She'd been really good at running away as a kid and maybe this was just the grown-up version.

"Why not? Why not take a chance? A real one? Stay here with your friends and your family who love you. Emma, I'd never want to stop you from pursuing your dreams but I know Boston and New York are not that. I know it's not what you really want. See, I just figured out what you've been looking for: it's a home, it's to feel like you are home."

"How did you…" she gasped, knowing instantly how right she was. How she'd been seeking a place in the world for herself, looking for some kind of happiness but never really knowing how that would take form.

"It was when we were talking earlier, it all clicked into place. Since we met, you just seemed so unsettled and restless. Emma, I want to see where this could go, give it a chance. Maybe you are already living the life you want. But you just haven't realized it yet."

She shook her head. "You're drunk."

He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, looking her square in the eye."I'm not drunk. Far from it, if anything I'm seeing things very clearly tonight. Say you'll stay?"

Emma looked at this man, who she had tried to hard to hate but instead found quite the opposite to be the case. Maybe he was worth it.

Maybe it was time to stop hiding from her feelings and try a different approach.

So she slid her arms to his shoulders and pulled him in for a slow, lingering kiss that tingled on her lips. She could feel him smile as he pulled away.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked breathlessly.

"Because I wanted to say yes," she smiled, "I want to give us a chance," she added before pulling him into another dizzying, wonderful, hopeful kiss. Finally, she looped her arms around his neck and released his lips, whispering into them, "And maybe I've fallen for you too."


End file.
